"Aye, what says Malcolm, my countryman?" asked the old man.
"If Father Phelim will undertake the task, which will be hard," I answered.
"He will bear hardship for that work," the superior said, setting his hand on the shoulder of the strong man, who had knelt before him. "We shall miss him, but we shall know that mayhap he will bring you twain to meet with us hereafter."
Then I said, being moved by words and tone, "So may it be, father," and he smiled at me in much content.
After that Phelim said naught of his own feelings in the matter, but went to the brothers one by one and took leave of them. Afterwards I heard that yesterday the bishop had loosed him from some vows which bound him to the island-hermit life, if it came to pass that we would take him with us. And that was what he had thought would befall him when he and Fergus rowed with us, with Asbiorn in chase.
So we took leave of the old man then, for he was feeble, and time was very short. He bade us remember that day by day in the little chapel our names, and the name of Hakon also, would not be forgotten; and blessed us, and went to his cell. Then one of the brothers came and asked Gerda to see what she had left in her cell, for none had touched it yet, and she went with him. Soon she came out with that little silver cup, which we had found in the penthouse when we first opened it, and asked me if she might give it to the hermits.
"They will have no use for it," I said, smiling at the thought.
"I think they will," she said. "Ask, for I cannot."
So I asked the brother who was with us, and he looked at the cup gravely. It was wrought with a strangely twisted and plaited pattern.
"Why, yes," he said. "I myself can set a stem to it, and thereafter it will be a treasure to us, for our chalice is but of white metal. It will mind us of you every day, in ways which are more wondrous than you can yet know. We may take it, therefore, but you must not offer us aught else. We are vowed to poverty."